


i wanna see your face (and know i made it home)

by Coruscant



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Dreams, Drowning, F/F, Hallucinations, M/M, Reunions, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coruscant/pseuds/Coruscant
Summary: After she loses her, Andy keeps seeing Quynh
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 24
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

Andromache was drowning, down in the lifeless dark. They’d been searching for Quynh for five years now, and it hadn’t gotten any easier. They’d tried dredging the sea floor with logs attached to chains. They tried tying weights to their feet and throwing themselves overboard with a rope around their waists to pull them back up while they floundered around in the dark, drowning, knowing they could be inches away from Quynh and not find her.

Andromache insisted on going down most often. It killed Yusuf and Nicolò to stand on deck and know the other was drowning beneath them, and every time one of them dove instead, she could see the fear in their eyes – that the line would snap, that they would be lost down there as well – a fear that she shared. First Lykon, and then Quynh; would she be the last of her family left standing?

So, she dove most often, and stayed down for longer. She was already drowning anyway, every second.

The rope around her waist tugged upwards and she knew it was Nicolò or Yusuf, that they wanted her to surface. Her heart screamed at her, but she reached for the rope and tugged back, letting it pull her up. She looked up into the darkness, hating the light that was filtering through, the light that Quynh wouldn’t be able to see.

Her lungs were burning, and she opened her mouth and breathed in the water, let it drown her as it was drowning Quynh – the only connection they had anymore, drowning in the same ocean.

And then she saw her, as she choked and drowned. She looked up and saw Quynh above her, thrashing in the water, screaming, drowning.

She woke as her head broke the water, choked on sea water, desperately dragged in a lungful of air that Quynh would never get, and shouted, “Send me back down!” Yusuf peered over the side as he hauled her up. “She was there!”

“She was there?” Yusuf repeated, as he grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the deck. “Did you find the coffin? Nicolò!”

“She’d gotten out of it,” Andromache replied as Nicolò came running. “She was drowning just above me. Let go of the rope!”

Nicolò and Yusuf exchanged glances and she could see the doubt in their eyes. “She was there!” she insisted, trying to twist out of Yusuf’s grip, but she was still weak from drowning and didn’t want to hurt him. “She was drowning, she needs me, let me go!”

“Andromache,” Nicolò began quietly, reaching for her shoulder.

“No!” she shoved him away, and ducked out of Yusuf’s grasp, heading back towards the side of the ship. “She was there!”

Yusuf caught her before she could throw herself back into the ocean. “How would she get out, Andromache?” he asked, and she could hear the pain in his voice. “The coffin was welded shut, she was chained inside, how would she have gotten out?”

“I know what I saw,” she snarled, scanning the waves, the desperate hope inside her chest consuming her. “She was there!” She wrenched herself from Yusuf’s grasp and threw herself back over the side, ignoring their shouts.

But however hard she searched, she couldn’t find Quynh. After two days of searching and drowning, Nicolò and Yusuf managed to haul her onboard, and Nicolò dove over the side instead while Yusuf forced her to rest and eat something and drink some water. Nicolò surfaced empty handed, and they headed onwards in their search.

\--

Twenty years later, Andromache was robbed as she prowled through the port, dressed as a sailor looking for work, although what she was really looking for was the last sailor that had served on the ship that had thrown Quynh into the sea. She’d been jumped by a gang, and they’d grabbed her purse before slitting her throat and running. As she choked on her own blood, she took the time to curse herself for not paying more attention to her surroundings. Nicolò and Yusuf hadn’t wanted to let her go alone – perhaps they’d been right.

As she gasped and choked, she thought she heard a noise, and looked up across the street.

Quynh was standing there. She was dressed in white, her hair long and falling down her back. She was watching Andromache sadly, and then turned and walked away. Andromache tried to stand, tried to shout her name.

When she woke up, she searched the port, questioned the sailors, found the gang that had robbed her and demanded if they’d seen a woman in white. They were too busy running screaming to answer her, but when she cornered them, they denied it, and she was left with the purse they’d stolen in her hand and hope dying in her heart.

\--

Andromache was riding across an endless plain. Quynh was riding next to her, bow on her back. Of course she was – where else would she be? Andromache turned to her, and Quynh lifted the necklace from around her neck, and Andromache knew this, she remembered this, and this wasn’t how it had happened –

“See how much your promises are worth,” Quynh said, in a language only the two of them now spoke, letting the necklace fall from her fingers. Andromache wanted to reach for it, wanted to look down and find it, but she couldn’t move. Her eyes were fixed on Quynh – on her anger.

“You and I until the end?” Quynh sneered. “How easily you forget me.” She reached for a knife and flipped it over in her hand, then stabbed forwards suddenly, sliding it between Andromache’s ribs. “How easily you rest while I am screaming,” she hissed. “Where are you, Andromache? Where are you?”

Andromache woke shouting, bringing Yusuf and Nicolò to their feet. She clutched for where Quynh had stabbed her, for Quynh’s necklace, and found smooth skin where a wound had been, and the necklace still sitting around her neck.

“Andromache?” Yusuf asked, sliding his sword back into its sheath.

Andromache stared at the necklace in her hand. “Just a dream,” she said hoarsely.

\--

Andromache was almost asleep, her eyes half-closed. Yusuf and Nicolò were tangled together in a hammock to her right, quietly murmuring in their sleep. They’d been asleep for hours already, but sleep didn’t come as easily for Andromache any more.

She shifted position, letting the rocking of the ship lull her closer and closer to sleep. The creaking and groaning of the ship was such a constant background noise that she was almost used to it.

And then she heard her name. Her eyes flew open, heart suddenly hammering, her hand instinctively going to her knife. A quick glance told her Yusuf and Nicolò were still asleep, and her eyes went to the hatch open to the deck. Standing shrouded in the shadows by the mast, barely visible, was Quynh.

She smiled when she caught Andromache’s eyes, and beckoned her forwards. Andromache moved without thinking, swiftly and quietly making her way through the sleeping crew to the deck.

Her head was aching with tiredness and her eyes felt gritty, but it had been so long. They’d stopped looking – they were on this ship to travel to America not to look for Quynh, as much of a betrayal as it felt. She reached the deck and ducked down behind the mast where Quynh was hiding.

“Andromache,” Quynh said softly.

Andromache stared at her, drinking in the sight of her, Quynh’s mere presence leaving her thunderstruck. “How?” she asked weakly.

Quynh smiled and Andromache’s heart skipped a beat. “Those priests found a shoddy smith, my love. The hinges broke and I swum to the surface.”

“I–” Andromache shook her head, pressing a hand to her mouth, tears burning in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she choked.

Quynh’s eyes darkened for a moment, but then she shook her head. “What could you have done?” she asked softly. “And I am here now.”

Andromache sat down next to her, and leant her head against Quynh’s shoulder. “Yes,” she said quietly. “You are.”

She began to tell Quynh of their mission in America, fighting the urge to close her eyes and give in to sleep. Quynh let her talk, but after the fifth time Andromache lost track of what she was saying, she pressed a finger to her lips. “Sleep, my heart,” she said gently. “I’ll watch over you.”

In the morning, Andromache awoke to Nicolò shaking her shoulder. It only took her a few seconds to realise Quynh was gone, and then she was on her feet. “Where is she?” she asked Nicolò.

He took a step back at the sudden way she lunged to her feet. “Who?” he asked, frowning.

“Quynh!” Andromache scanned the deck, the sailors, the surrounding ocean. Quynh was nowhere in sight. She shouldered past Nicolò and down the hatch. The sleeping quarters were all but empty, only a few sailors still in their hammocks. Andromache headed for her own, tossed Yusuf out of his, and then checked all the other decks as well.

Nicolò finally caught up to her as she was hauling aside barrels to see if Quynh was hiding among the cargo, a terrible, sinking doubt in her stomach. “Andromache!” Nicolò pulled her away as she reached for another.

Andromache shrugged him off and pushed forwards. “Quynh!” Her voice echoed around the empty room.

Nicolò tackled her to the ground before she could pry the lids off any of the barrels. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, “but she’s not here.”

“No!” Andromache struggled to shove him off of her. “You don’t understand! The hinges broke! She got out!” She managed to throw Nicolò off her just as Yusuf staggered down the stairs.

“She wasn’t here!” Nicolò shouted as she surged to her feet again. “She’s never here, Andromache! Stop for a minute and listen to yourself!” He grabbed her arm. “Why would she be hiding? How would she have gotten on the ship?”

Andromache shook him off. “She’s been drowning for hundreds of years, Nicolò,” she snapped, “there are any number of reasons why she might be hiding.” She gave the cargo hold one last desperate look as a thought chilled her. “She wouldn’t have gone back in the sea, would she? What if one of the sailors threw her overboard while I was sleeping?” She spun, and headed back for the stairs, but Yusuf blocked her path.

“She wasn’t here,” he said firmly, “Andromache, stop. Just stop. I think deep down, you know she wasn’t here.”

Andromache shook her head, trying to fight off the awful doubt that was crawling up her throat. “I saw her, Yusuf, I spoke to her! I touched her! She was here!”

Tears were glittering in his eyes. “Andromache,” he said gently, and reached forwards to embrace her.

She shoved him back and turned away, pressing her hands to her eyes. The doubt was choking her now, like a noose around her neck. She’d fallen asleep leaning against Quynh, and when Nicolò woke her she’d been leaning against the mast. She hadn’t moved.

She shook her head, and choked down tears. Quynh had never been there.

\--

When they had met Sébastien, he had asked them, “Where’s the other one I dream of? Why is she drowning?” and Andromache was getting drunk. Let Nicolò and Yusuf explain immortality to him, let them tell him of Quynh’s fate. She’d stayed at the bar until the owner had refused to serve her, and then gone to another, and another, and now she was sat on the filthy streets of Paris – well, slumped – holding a bottle in her hands and wondering if it was possible for her to die of alcohol poisoning.

They had given up. They had had to. Nicolò’s line had broken, and they’d spent a week searching for him, and Andromache had decided to stop. To give up. She’d decided that one of her family drowning was bad enough, and she’d given up. She’d stopped looking for Quynh. She’d broken her promise.

And even though she’d hoped Quynh had died, she’d still dreamt of her drowning, still dreamt of her angry and betrayed. And now she knew it was true. Knew that Quynh was still drowning, still suffering, still waiting for her to fulfil her promise and rescue her, still waiting for someone who was never coming.

And even though she’d drunk enough alcohol that she could barely sit up, let alone stand, she couldn’t forget that.

As she raised the bottle again, she caught a glimpse of a woman across the street. A woman in a red dress with long black hair – Quynh, the way she’d looked when they’d been in Greece. Quynh, alive and in front of her.

She lunged to her feet, dropped the bottle, staggered and fell, and when she looked up again, the street was empty.

\--

“Andromache!” Her eyelids were so heavy. Her head ached. Her skin felt like it was burning. “Andromache!” Where was she? Her head was aching, and she struggled to raise it, to look for the source of the voice that she knew better than her own.

She was in a small room with dark walls. Quynh was crouched next to her bed. She was wearing a red dress, her hair braided back in a way Andromache could barely remember. “Andromache!”

Her mouth was dry. “Quynh?” she gasped.

Quynh reached out a hand and pressed it to her forehead. “You’re not well, An,” she said softly. “What trouble have you gotten into now?”

“Quynh?” Andromache repeated. “What are you doing here?” Quynh turned to the small table next to Andromache’s bed and poured her a glass of water, pressing it into her hands.

“Iron rusts,” Quynh said softly. “I came to find you.”

Andromache stared at her, her mind spinning. “You got out,” she said. Her grip on the glass slipped and it shattered on the floor, but neither of them paid it any mind. “You’re here.” Tears filled her eyes. “Quynh, I’m so sorry,” she choked.

Quynh smiled gently at her. “How could you find me when you’re so ill?” she asked, and Andromache frowned. Did Quynh think she’d been sick this whole time?

“Where’s Yusuf and Nicolò?” she asked, struggling to sit. “We should tell them.” She reached out for Quynh’s hand, but Quynh stood.

“Of course,” she said, and headed for the door. She shot Andromache one last smile before she opened it and left the room.

Andromache struggled to push herself up, her limbs uncooperative. She toppled out of her bed and onto the floor. She could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs, and she struggled to her feet.

Nicolò caught her as she fell through the door, lifting her easily off of her feet and carrying her back to the bed. “Where did Quynh go?” she asked him.

He paused as he put her back down on the bed. “Quynh?” he asked, voice soft.

“She was just here,” Andromache said, trying to crane her head to see out the door. “She broke out of the coffin. She went to find you.” She looked back at him.

At the door, Yusuf covered his face with a hand, and leant against the doorframe. “Andromache,” Nicolò said to her gently as he put her down on the bed. “You’ve been poisoned, don’t you recall? It was a dream. Quynh wasn’t here.”

Andromache stared at him. She could – there had been a ball? What had they been there for? Her wine had tasted odd. Had it? “No,” she said, trying to push herself back up. “No, no, Quynh was here, Nicolò, she was here. She got out.”

Nicolò shook his head gently. “I am sorry,” he said, and the look on his face was more than she could bear. She turned her head. The glass still sat on the bedside table, instead of shattered on the floor.

\--

The shells had been raining down for days. Andromache, disguised as a soldier, leant against Nicolò, her eyelids drooping. She’d been awake for most of three days now. Never in her immortal life had she been this exhausted.

“Andrew! Nicholas!” She looked up to see Sébastien and Yusuf moving towards them, keeping their heads ducked underneath the trenches. They looked serious – they’d been eavesdropping on command and it looked like they had bad news. She groaned, and jabbed Nicolò in the side to wake him up.

A flash of white caught her eyes and she looked up and saw Quynh.

She was dressed in soldier’s clothing like they were, and Andromache caught sight of her face as she pushed back her helmet and then turned and walked back into the trees.

Andromache was frozen for half a heartbeat, and then she lunged to her feet. She heard Nicolò shout from behind her, and heard Yusuf swear, fumbling for his gun. She ignored them all and threw herself forwards, up over the trenches, eyes fixed on the trees where Quynh had been.

Bullets tore through her before she’d gone three steps, and she heard shouting behind her as other soldiers copied her, thinking it was an assault. She woke a few heartbeats later to pitched battle, and only felt mildly guilty as she ran past them into the trees, shouting Quynh’s name.

\--

Night had long since fallen, but Andy was still walking, trudging through the snow. She’d been separated from the others days ago, when she’d seen Quynh among the trees and headed after her. Quynh had run – Andy couldn’t imagine how terrifying modern combat must be to her. She’d followed, and then intervening time was largely a blur. She needed to get the both of them back to their lines soon or they’d die of starvation or thirst – not one of her favourite ways to go.

When she looked up, Quynh was walking beside her. Of course she was – where else would she be?

“Another battle?” Quynh asked, in their oldest shared language. “Aren’t you tired of them yet?”

“Of course,” Andy admitted, “but shouldn’t I help where I can? What else can I do?” Quynh raised an eyebrow, and Andy felt guilt rise up like bile in her throat. “I couldn’t look for you,” she said. “Every ship’s been taken by the war.”

Quynh scoffed. “You weren’t looking for me anyway,” she said.

“I was,” Andy said quietly, pained, unsure which of them she was trying to convince. “They have new technology now; sonar and radar. I would have found you as soon as the war was over.”

Quynh gave her a long, sad look. “No you won’t,” she said, “and I don’t blame you. There’s nothing left of me to find.”

When Andy woke up, it was to Booker shaking her shoulder and calling her name. She ignored him and turned to look behind her. The only footprints in the snow were hers.

\--

“This is enough,” Nicky said firmly. She didn’t look at him, flexing her hand as her bones knitted back together. “You got arrested, Andy. Arrested!”

“I was there, Nicky,” she said dryly. “Give me some, would you?” she added to Booker, who was pouring wine. Silently, he handed her a full glass.

“You chased the woman down the street, shouting at her in ancient Vietnamese,” Joe added. “You’re lucky the police bought our excuses and let you go.”

Andy drained her glass without looking at them, and held it out to Booker to fill it up again. “I hadn’t slept,” she said, when the silence got too loud. “I thought she was–”

“We know who you thought she was,” Joe snapped. “Who you always think it is. You’ve got to stop this.”

“Let her go, Andy,” Nicky said quietly. “Let her go.”

Andy paused, and then set her glass down on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Booker wince. “Let her go,” she repeated. “There’s nowhere she can go, Nicolò. She’s not dead. She won’t die. She’s still there, still suffering. How am I meant to ‘let her go’?”

Nicky didn’t back down. “Maybe you should stop looking.”

It took her a moment to parse the words – to look at Nicolò’s face and understand what he had said, what he was saying.

“Stop looking?” she repeated. Joe stood silently behind him, and she realised suddenly that they’d discussed this. After they’d stopped the first time, after they’d stolen technology and lied and spent as much money as they could get their hands on to find a boat that maybe had a chance of finding her, they’d both sat down and agreed that they should stop looking.

Nicky met her gaze evenly. “A tiny metal coffin at the bottom of the ocean?” he said quietly. “It’s hopeless, Andromache.”

Andy clenched her hands into fists, a slow rage curling in her stomach. She scoffed. “So what if it is? I have an eternity to look. What else am I meant to do with my life?”

“Quynh wouldn’t want–”

Andy stood, abruptly, upsetting the wine bottle, and tipping wine across the table. “Don’t you dare,” she snarled. “Don’t you dare.” She hadn’t seriously wanted to hurt Nicolò in centuries, not once he’d opened his eyes past the faith he’d been taught, once he’d accepted them. He was her brother. But she wanted to hurt him now, and she knew by the way Joe was shifting his weight that they could both tell.

Nicolò just looked at her, solemn and sad, and she gritted her teeth with the effort it took not to strike him dead right there.

“You haven’t known Yusuf for even half the time I had with Quynh,” she growled, “and if it was him down there you’d have burnt England to the ground by now. You’d be a wreck. So don’t you dare sit there and tell me what Quynh would or wouldn’t want.”

She pushed past him and headed for the door, slamming it behind her.

\--

Joe and Booker were shouting at each other, but Andy couldn’t focus on what they were saying. The pain of the bullet wound – the bullet that _Booker_ had shot her with – was taking all of her attention. She’d forgotten what it was to hurt like this, when the pain stayed with you long after the injury had happened. No matter how much it hurt, it only ever lasted for a few minutes, even if exhaustion pursued you. But not now. Not now she’d stopped healing.

She could see Quynh standing in the corner of the lab, looking like she’d walked out of the past a thousand years ago. Bow and quiver on her back, her clothing the exact same it was when they’d first met Lykon. Her face was the clearest.

Andy didn’t bother asking if anyone else could see her.

“You can’t die here, Andromache,” she said, and Andy was so relieved when she spoke. She had been afraid she’d forgotten her voice. “You haven’t found me yet.”

_I’ll never find you now,_ Andy thought. _Not now. I’ve run out of time. I’m finally out of time._

When Nile came bursting into the room, she looked away from Quynh for a second, and when she looked back she was gone.

\--

Andy took another sip of whiskey, grimacing as it burned its way down her throat, and returned her attention to the map spread out on the table before her. Nile had tried to take the whiskey off her, saying that she was mortal now, and needed to take care of herself more, but there was no way she was even contemplating this without alcohol.

She’d given up on searching for Quynh centuries ago. When they’d lost her, they hadn’t had any of the technology there was now – just them diving down tied to a rope and hoping. After they’d nearly lost Nicky – his rope breaking – she’d called a halt to it. One of them drowning was bad enough. She kept up with the technology, though, and whenever there was a new breakthrough – diving bells, breathing apparatus, submarines – she’d try again. But all their leads had turned into dead ends centuries ago, dying with the sailors that had thrown Quynh over the side of the ship, and the ocean wasn’t becoming any smaller.

Still, she’d looked. Every few decades, when she could bear the hope, she’d sail out and try diving down again. But that was mostly just to salve her conscience when the nightmares got too bad, when the guilt sat too heavily on her chest. She’d given up hope long ago.

But now… She sighed, and took another gulp of her drink. Now she had run out of time. Before, she’d been able to tell herself that metal rusts – that the coffin would break before Quynh did; that she’d one day see her again. Now there was the possibility that she’d die first. Sooner or later she’d be too old to go on jobs with the team, if she didn’t get shot first, and then what would she do? Retire? No, her last years would be spent searching for Quynh, even if all it meant was that she’d die in the same ocean as her love.

At some point, poring over the map, drinking whiskey, she fell asleep. She knew this, because when she looked up she saw Quynh standing in front of her. Quynh, dressed in a red coat, her long hair falling down her back. Quynh, real and there and alive, standing in front of her.

Andy had had this dream before. Hundreds of times, hundreds of variations. And she was so tired.

“Come to kill me again, my love?” she asked. Sometimes Quynh spoke in the dreams, sometimes she didn’t. Andy was afraid it was because she was forgetting her voice.

“Again?” Quynh asked. “Have I killed you often, my heart?” Her voice was smooth and soft, and just a little bit amused. That raise of her eyebrow so familiar that it felt like a knife in Andy’s heart, and she cursed her psyche once again for tormenting her with these dreams.

“Only every second you’ve been from my side,” she answered. It was odd that the room hadn’t changed – normally she dreamt of Quynh drowning, or of Quynh drowning her. This one felt almost real.

And that way, danger laid. “I should wake up,” she said regretfully. She wanted to stay asleep, to hold onto the dream of Quynh as long as she could, but she’d done that before. Far too many times. And she knew it would only hurt more when she woke, the longer she stayed asleep.

“You are awake,” Quynh said. She sat in the chair across from Andy, and put a long knife on the table. Andy didn’t pay it much attention – Quynh often carried weapons in her dreams, often tried to kill her. She always woke before the fatal stroke fell.

“I’m not,” Andy answered. “And I promised Joe and Nicky that I wouldn’t let myself get carried away again.”

“Carried away?” Quynh asked, sounding amused again. She reached forwards and picked up the glass of whiskey, taking a drink. “By what?”

“By you,” Andy answered. “Thinking you’re real, that you’re here.” She tipped her chair back and stared at the ceiling, willing herself to wake.

“I am here,” Quynh said slowly. Andy couldn’t see the look on her face.

“You’re not,” Andy said again, like a mantra. “You’re not here, you’re not real, this is just a dream I’m going to wake up from.” She started counting the cracks in the ceiling, wondering if she could bore herself awake. “I have these dreams when I’m awake sometimes too,” she told the dream of Quynh. “A few decades ago, we were in Japan, and I saw a woman I thought was you and chased her all the way down the street. I nearly got arrested.” She laughed a little at the memory, even though she could still remember the awful disappointment when the woman turned and wasn’t Quynh.

“You did?” Quynh said quietly. “Why did you think she was me?”

Andy shrugged. “It happens sometimes,” she said. “When I’m drunk, or haven’t slept. In Belgium, in the second world war, I thought I saw you, and Booker had to chase me across half of France.” The memory stung – the pity in Booker’s eyes, the way hopeless despair had closed over her again, the sudden shock out of tiredness when she’d seen the figure of Quynh in the trees and the resulting chase. “But it wasn’t you,” she said shortly.

“Andromache,” Quynh said firmly, “this is not a dream.”

Andy closed her eyes. The way Quynh had said her name – she thought she’d forgotten. If nothing else, at least this dream was reminding her of all of Quynh’s little mannerisms that had started to fade after five hundred years.

“It is,” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It is a dream and when I wake up I’m going to drink the rest of that whiskey to try and forget it.” She let her chair thump back down onto four legs, and took a long look at Quynh, trying to imprint the details onto her memory. “I’ve not dreamt of you like this for years,” she said quietly. “Usually you try to kill me.” She paused, then added, “I think I prefer those.”

Quynh was frowning now, and Andy wanted to curse her subconscious again. If she had to dream of Quynh, couldn’t she dream of her being happy?

“Why?” Quynh asked. Then her expression clouded and she said, “Guilt, I suppose.”

Andy nodded. She’d given up on waking up now – she’d just have to wait until this dream ran its course. “I prefer it when I don’t wake up hoping you’re out,” she said quietly, “just to lose that hope all over again.” She brushed her hands across the map. “Booker’s promised to look for you, when I die,” she said. “I know he still dreams of you. He stopped telling me a century ago, but I know what it is to dream of you dying. He’ll find you.”

“He won’t need to,” Quynh said. “Andromache, I want to have a sensible conversation with you. Can’t you tell I’m here?” She reached out her hand, and Andy moved with a speed she didn’t think she possessed while half-asleep, and flung herself out of her chair.

“No,” she snapped, “no, don’t you dare. I don’t want to wake up.” The bullet wound in her side was hurting again, and she was fairly certain she’d just pulled her stitches in her sleep – was she sleep walking?

“You are awake!” Quynh snarled back, standing. “You are awake, Andromache, and I am here!”

Andy laughed. “I’ve had this dream hundreds of times,” she said. “I’ve seen you when I’m dying, I’ve seen you in battlefields, I’ve seen you in the faces of people I pass in the street, and every time I think I’ve found you, you disappear, or I wake up, or they turn and they aren’t you.” She could feel tears burning in her eyes and angrily swiped at them. “Just let me have this, will you?” she said. “I doubt I’ll ever see your face again, so just let me have this before I wake up and have to face trying to find you.”

“You’re not trying to find me,” Quynh said, still angry, advancing towards her. “You stopped looking.”

“I did,” Andy agreed. Quynh had picked up the knife and was threatening her with it, and she knew this dream wouldn’t last much longer. “After we nearly lost Nicolò as well, I couldn’t risk it. You were already drowning, my love, what if we all lost ourselves at sea as well?” She looked aside for a moment. “When new technology came, I tried again, but even my life isn’t long enough. I could spend all of my life over again looking for you and never find you.” She huffed a laugh as Quynh tilted the knife under her chin, looking up and meeting her eyes. “And I don’t have the time now, anyway.”

She looked down at her side, where she could feel the sticky press of blood, and yes, she had pulled her stitches, and Nile was going to have to fix it again for her in the morning. Quynh’s eyes followed hers, and she stepped back. “You stopped healing,” she said, and for the first time since this dream had started, she sounded frightened. “Andromache, you stopped healing.”

“I did,” Andy said quietly. “It’s my time. I’ve run out of time. Another century or two and technology would be advanced enough, probably. But no.” She smiled bitterly. “All those years alone, and now at the end of it, I don’t have enough time.”

Quynh was still staring at her, and even in her dream, Andy felt tired. “Going to kill me now?” she asked quietly. “I feel like I deserve it sometimes.” She smiled a little. “When I die for the last time, it’ll be in your arms. I’d like that.”

“No!” Quynh jerked her gaze back up to Andy’s face. “I have been without you for five hundred years,” she hissed. “You owe me at least that much time again.”

“If I had it, I’d give it to you, my love,” Andy said wearily. “But I don’t.”

Quynh stared at her for a long moment. “You should go to sleep,” she said finally. “We can talk in the morning.”

“You won’t be here in the morning,” Andy reminded her. When Quynh just glared, she shrugged. “If it’ll make you happy,” she said, and turned to the door, leading Quynh through the house.

When they reached her room, she flung herself down on the bed, wincing, and turned to watch Quynh. She’d gone to the bedside table, under the window. There was a picture of her there – Yusuf had drawn it for her centuries ago, when they still hoped they might find her. There had been centuries when Andy had found it too painful to even look at. But the thought of forgetting what Quynh looked like hurt more. Quynh picked it up and looked at it for a moment, before saying to Andy, “You’re still wearing my necklace.”

Andy’s hand went to it automatically. “Of course,” she said quietly. “It’s all of you I have left.” It was more honest than she’d ever be awake, but what did it matter? She closed her hands around it tightly, and closed her eyes. She could still remember Quynh giving it to her, the memory old and worn like paper than had been written on too many times.

She felt the mattress dip next to her, and opened her eyes to look at Quynh. Even though she knew how this ended, she couldn’t help but ask, “Stay with me?”

Quynh’s expression softened – love and kindness in her expression that Andy didn’t deserve, but that she’d take anyway. “I’ll stay,” she said. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Andy smiled sadly. “You always say that,” she said as she closed her eyes. “And you never are.”

Quynh made a noise half-laugh, half-sob. “Go to sleep, Andromache,” she said.

Andy rolled over to face her. “I will keep my promise,” she said quietly, seriously, even if all she was talking to was her own psyche. “I will find you, Quynh, even if it’s with my dying breath.”

Quynh smiled, and Andy’s heart skipped a beat. “I believe you,” she said. “You’ve never failed me, Andromache.”

Andy woke up in the morning with a hangover – another perk of being mortal again. She groaned and pressed her face against her pillow, her head throbbing. She could vaguely remember dreaming of Quynh, and someone was lying against her, half on top of her – she’d clearly climbed in with Joe and Nicky after her dream; after they’d told her it wasn’t real. She closed her eyes against the heartache, and resolved to set out as soon as she could. She had so little time left, after all.

She sat up, shoved Joe off her without looking – it had to be Joe, he was the only one that clung like that – and rubbed at her eyes, yawning. Coffee. That would solve her headache, she was certain. She stretched, turned to cover Joe with the blanket again, and froze.

Sprawled out on the bed was Quynh. Her dream came rushing back to her – the way Quynh had insisted she was real, the way she’d been dressed in modern clothing, the forgiveness she’d offered that Andy knew she didn’t deserve.

Andy hardly dared to breathe. Long experience told her that this was another dream, a hallucination. Five hundred years of seeing Quynh out of the corner of her eye, and she knew that this wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. Knew that she should shout for Joe or Nicky or Nile, that she should look away and look back, should close her eyes and count to ten, should do anything except believe that this was real. But her heart was in her mouth, was burning a hole in her chest, and Andy reached out and brushed a hand against Quynh’s shoulder.

Her hand brushed against cloth, against skin, against Quynh’s hair. Quynh didn’t disappear, didn’t vanish. She was there. Andy made a keening noise of disbelief, and reached out again, shook Quynh’s shoulder as though to wake her. Her mind was screaming at her to call out, to have someone else come and tell her that this wasn’t real again, but she didn’t move as Quynh slowly stirred.

She opened her eyes. Looked up at Andy. Smiled a smile Andy hadn’t seen in the flesh for five hundred years. “Good morning, Andromache,” she said. “Do you believe I’m here now?”

Andy laughed, and the laugh caught in her throat and turned into a sob. Quynh pushed herself up, put a hand behind Andy’s head, and kissed her and it was as though no time had passed at all. They broke apart and Andy took what felt like her first breath in five hundred years. “Quynh,” she said. “Quynh.” Quynh reached up and brushed away tears Andy didn’t even know she was crying.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”


	2. no place for grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me, sitting bolt upright at 3 in the morning: but Joe and Nicky will think Andy is still hallucinating

“I don’t understand,” Nile said as her, Nicky, and Joe ate breakfast, “why you’re both so worried. I get that Andy’s mortal, but we’re not doing anything dangerous.”

Nicky and Joe exchanged glances, and Joe sighed deeply. Nicky leaned forwards. “Nile…” he hesitated. “Booker was not wrong.” He held up a hand as they both opened their mouths to argue with him. “Not about what he did,” he clarified, “but in what he said. Joe and I, we _have_ always had each other. As enemies, or reluctant allies, or lovers. But Andy – over half of her life, she has spent alone, as the only immortal.”

He looked grave, and Nile let those words sink into her slowly, trying to give them the thought they deserved, even as part of her shrank from what they meant. She’d heard Andy talk about visiting Ancient Greece with Quynh; if that was the half of her life she hadn’t been alone for, then how old _was_ she?

“When we met her,” Nicky continued, “Andy was many things; an immortal warrior, yes, terrifying with an axe, undoubtedly. But she was also in love.”

Joe snorted, though Nile saw tears in his eyes. “You think we’re bad,” he said, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t think so if you’d ever seen Andy with Quynh.” He and Nicky exchanged fond looks. “Andy was never one for announcing how she felt, and Quynh was the same, but sometimes they’d just look at each other as though they were the only ones in the world.”

“You felt as though you were intruding just by being there,” Nicky said, smiling sadly. “And when they were fighting side by side they could take down whole armies.”

Joe laughed. “Do you remember – where was it – Tibet?” Nicky nodded, and Joe shook his head. “They got into a fight,” he explained to Nile. “I don’t remember what it was about, but Andy sulked for weeks.”

“Quynh wasn’t much better,” Nicky said dryly. “They spent three days not speaking to each other, and I think it was the most miserable she’d ever been.”

Nile listened, heart aching as she realised again how much Andy had lost, but it didn’t really explain the way Joe and Nicky had both looked drawn and worried the previous evening, when they’d gone to bed and left Andy poring over old maps.

Nicky must have seen some of the confusion on her face, because he leant forwards. “Joe and I,” he said, “have been together for a long time, but Andy and Quynh had been together for at least that long twice over before they even met us. It killed her to lose Quynh.” Nile nodded slowly, and he sighed. “And she didn’t… cope very well.”

“She kept hallucinating Quynh,” Joe said bluntly. “As she was dying, she’d see her, or she’d see a flash of someone’s face and think it was her. Ask Booker about World War Two sometime.”

Nicky put a hand on his arm. “It hasn’t happened in a while,” he said softly, “but we don’t know if that’s just because she’s not telling us.”

“And you think this will bring them back again?” Nile asked quietly.

Nicky nodded grimly.

\---

In Andy’s defence, when no one had come looking for her the previous night, even though she’d been shouting at Quynh, and Quynh had shouted at her, and she’d missed dinner, and they’d shattered the bottle of whiskey, she’d assumed that Quynh had either spoken to Joe and Nicky on her way in, or killed them so her and Andy would have some privacy to sort out their issues. And it was almost noon by the time she grudgingly sat up and said to Quynh, “We should eat something,” and with how overprotective Nicky and Joe had been being, surely one of them would have checked on her when she stayed in bed so long.

Quynh stretched and buried her face deeper in Andy’s pillows. “Truly this century is a marvel,” she muttered. She waved a hand at Andy. “I’ll have pancakes,” she said. “No, waffles. With strawberries and cream. And syrup.” She paused, and eyed Andy dubiously. “Make Nicolò cook them.”

“Booker’s been telling tales,” Andy said, indignant. “I don’t know. I spent millennia cooking for you, and now just because modern stoves are a hellish invention you assume I can’t be trusted not to poison you.” Andy shook her head theatrically as Quynh laughed. She bent down to press a kiss to Quynh’s cheek. “Pancakes and waffles for my lazy wife. Has Booker been teaching you about breakfast foods? Anything else?”

Quynh snorted. “I haven’t slept in a bed in five hundred years, Andromache, I’m not moving for at least three days.” Andy’s heart twinged, but Quynh gave her a smile that took all the sting out of her words. She caught a fistful of Andy’s shirt as she sat and pulled her back down into a kiss. “Come back quickly,” she murmured.

Andy pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to her cheeks, then to her lips. “Of course.”

Despite her hangover, Andy hummed cheerfully on her way down the stairs. She felt impossibly lighter, as though she could lift up and fly away at any moment, and there was a giddy happiness in her chest that reminded her of the first time she’d kissed Quynh. Even her mortality wasn’t the burden it had been before. Perhaps she’d retire, and live in a little cottage somewhere with Quynh, back near the desert where they’d first met, and spend their days languishing in blissful indolence together.

Nicky was cooking in the kitchen, and smiled at her when she came in. Andy smiled back, and moved by a sudden impulse, swept him into a hug. He made a surprised noise and hugged her back. “What’s this for?” he asked, amused.

“For the pancakes and waffles you’re about to make,” Andy said, grinning at him.

Still looking slightly shocked, Nicky saluted her with the spatula. “Pancakes and waffles coming up, boss.”

Humming again, Andy headed for the cupboards. Her head was still throbbing so she avoided the coffee machine and rummaged around to pull a kettle out of the cupboard and set it on the stove. She filled it with water, flicked the stove on, and went back to the cupboard for mugs.

By the time she’d downed her first coffee, and several glasses of water, her head was feeling much better although she still felt a little queasy. Nicky had turned out a stack of pancakes by then, though explained that since she’d broken the waffle iron the last time she was here, he couldn’t make any of those for her.

Andy ignored the dig and loaded up two mugs of coffee, the pancakes, and a tub of strawberries onto a tray. Joe eyed her as she went past. “Hungry this morning, boss?”

Andy snorted. “No thanks,” she said. “I think I’m more hungover than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Nile sat up straighter from where she’d been slumped over. “Wait, can we not get hangovers?”

Andy shrugged, careful not to unbalance her tray. “Depends how much you drink,” she admitted, “but generally, not unless you’ve given yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“Sweet,” Nile said. “I know what _my_ plans are the next time we’re somewhere with a nightclub.”

Joe laughed. “But if you’re not hungry, Andy, why the pancakes?”

Andy raised an eyebrow at him. “For Quynh,” she said, slowly and condescendingly.

Joe dropped his book. There was a shattering noise from the kitchen and Nicky appeared, face white, in the doorway. He exchanged a helpless glance with Joe.

“What?” Andy asked. She looked between them, and slowly understanding dawned. “Did you not hear her come in last night?” she asked in disbelief. “I thought we’d have woken up the whole house shouting at each other.”

Nile stood up. “I’m going into town,” she said brightly. “Does anyone need anything? No? Great.” She darted across the kitchen and grabbed the car keys, heading out the door.

“Get alcohol,” Andy called after her. “And ice cream! And baklava!”

The front door slammed shut. Joe dragged a hand down his face. “Quynh?” he said quietly. He looked at Nicky for a long moment. “She’s here, is she?” He didn’t sound happy.

“Yes,” Andy said, her tone sharper than she meant it to be. “Upstairs.”

“Andy,” Nicky said, stepping out of the kitchen. “Why don’t you just sit down? Have some breakfast.” He smiled at her, but his voice was strained.

Andy sighed. “Look,” she said. She put the tray down, and held up a hand. “I know what you’re thinking. I thought I was hallucinating last night as well. But I wasn’t. I’m not. Quynh really is here, and she really is upstairs.”

Joe nodded solemnly. “How did she find us, Andy?” he asked.

Andy hesitated for a moment. “Booker told her,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. Quynh _was_ there, she knew she was. Didn’t she?

“How did Booker know?” Nicky asked, his voice soft. He took a few more steps forwards, and pulled out a chair, trying to usher Andy into it.

“Nile must have told him,” Andy said defensively. She crossed her arms. Unease was creeping up her spine. Quynh _was_ there. She’d moved the picture. Andy had _seen_ her. She’d touched her. She’d spent the whole morning with her. Quynh _was there_.

“How did Quynh find Booker?” Nicky continued quietly. He reached out a hand to Andy’s shoulder, but she stepped back away from him.

“The dreams,” she said scornfully. “Obviously.” Her head was throbbing again, and nausea was roiling in her stomach. She hadn’t imagined it. She _knew_ she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have imagined Quynh’s forgiveness when she still didn’t believe she deserved it. Crossing her arms felt too defensive so she jammed her hands into her pockets to hide the way they were trembling. “I’m not going to stand here and be interrogated,” she snapped, and reached for the tray.

“Why didn’t she come downstairs?” Nicky asked, his voice still calm and quiet. “Doesn’t she want to see us? Doesn’t she want to meet Nile?”

Andy clutched at the tray defensively. “Maybe that’s too much just yet,” she said. Her hands were sweating and her heart was hammering. Quynh was upstairs. She _knew_ Quynh was upstairs. She _knew_ this wasn’t a hallucination. It _wasn’t._ Quynh was _here._ She’d _forgiven_ her. _She was here._ “Give her some time,” she continued, knuckles white where she was gripping the tray. “There’s a lot for her to adjust to.”

Nicky and Joe exchanged looks again, and Joe sighed. He pressed his hand to his mouth for a minute, and then said quietly, “Come on, Andy, please. Just sit down.”

Andy shook her head. “Quynh is _here._ ” Her voice broke on the last word, wavering. “She is right upstairs, Joe, I swear it. I am not dreaming or hallucinating. She is _here.”_

“Like she was in France?” Nicky asked quietly. “In Belgium? In Uzbekistan? In Laos?” He reached out and took the tray and Andy let him. _The pancakes will be cold,_ she thought. Her hands were shaking. She let Nicky steer her into the chair and sat heavily. Nicky sat next to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Andy,” he said quietly.

Andy stared down at the table and felt tears blurring her vision. Quynh _had_ to be here. Joe reached forwards and took her hands in his. “We’ll find her, Andy,” he said firmly. “One day she’s going to be here and it’s going to be real.”

Andy yanked her hands out of his and stood. It felt like her heart was leaping out of her chest. “I – I have to–” She shook her head and strode for the door. She made it to the stairs and then she was running.

Her lungs weren’t working properly, the breath not seeming to reach them. She felt sick. The stairs seemed too long and too short at the same time as she reached the top in centuries or seconds. She spun and lunged for the door to her bedroom, the door where Quynh was because Quynh _was_ there she _was_ she _had to be,_ _say I didn’t imagine it please, please, Quynh, please be there._

The door handle gave under her hands and she almost fell through the door.

Quynh sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “Andromache?” She stretched. “Finally. I was about to come and look for you–” Her gaze landed on Andy and sharpened. “Andromache? What’s wrong?”

Andy still couldn’t breathe. She lunged for the bed, desperately reaching for Quynh. Her hands skidded across fabric, caught on Quynh’s hair, and clutched at her tightly. She pressed her forehead to Quynh’s and frantically reached for her face. “You’re here, aren’t you, Quynh?” she said desperately, her voice slipping and slurring between languages. “You _are_ here?”

Quynh took hold of her arms. “Of course I’m here, Andromache,” she said gently. She tugged Andy down onto the bed. Andy went with her, the adrenaline slowly draining out of her. “What is this? What’s wrong?” She pulled Andy into her lap and Andy buried her face in Quynh’s shoulder. “Andromache, my heart, you’re shaking.” Quynh tightened her arms around Andy. “I’m here. I’m with you.”

Andy gulped down breaths and clutched at Quynh. “You are here,” she said, “I _know_ you’re here. I know it.” She slowed her breathing, trying to match Quynh’s.

Quynh cupped the back of her head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I thought I was going to be the one panicking,” she said ruefully, “but I forgot how you were after Lykon died, didn’t I?” She ran her fingers through Andy’s hair. “I’m just going to have to not let you out of my sight for the next five hundred years, aren’t I?” She was quiet for a moment, and then said, “You weren’t joking about hallucinating, were you?”

Andy huffed a laugh, her fingers still clutching at Quynh although her breathing had settled. “Did you think I was?”

Quynh sighed. “I suppose I didn’t think what it would mean.”

They were both silent for a moment, and then Andy said, “I forgot your pancakes.”

Quynh laughed. “What?”

Andy pulled away from her so she could see Quynh’s face. “Your pancakes. I left them downstairs.”

“I’m sure I asked for waffles.”

Andy smiled. “I broke the waffle iron here years ago, and Nicky hasn’t bought a replacement yet so he can keep being sarcastic about it.”

Quynh snorted. “That sounds like Nicolò.” She nudged Andy in the ribs. “I suppose we’ll have to go and get them, then.”

Andy stood, her legs still feeling weak and shaky, but Quynh kept one hand tangled in hers and it kept her grounded. They were at the door when she remembered, and said, “They don’t think you’re here.”

Quynh turned to her, frown on her face. “Nicky and Joe,” she elaborated. “They think I’m hallucinating.”

A sudden fear gripped her again, because what if she was? She’d had hallucinations this real before. Quynh’s frown deepened. “Do they,” she said grimly. Her grip on Andy’s hand tightened, and she swung the door open, striding for the stairs.

“It’s not their fault,” Andy said as she was towed down the stairs. “I usually am. I got arrested before. And Booker had to chase me across France.” Her heart was in her mouth, and the panic Quynh had soothed away was returning, because what if Nicky and Joe looked at Quynh and couldn’t see her? What if she _was_ hallucinating?

She clutched Quynh’s hand tightly as she swung the kitchen door open. “Nicolò!” Quynh shouted. “Yusuf! Get in here!”

There was the sound of something breaking in the kitchen – again – and the sound of footsteps. Andy took a deep breath, thought desperately, _please, please, please see that she’s here_ , and clutched at Quynh’s hand.

Nicky and Joe appeared in the doorframe. Their eyes scanned the kitchen, and then landed on Andy – on Quynh. Andy had time for a heartbeat of terror, and then Joe’s jaw dropped and Nicky’s hand went to his mouth. They stared.

“Quynh?” Nicky said breathlessly. He grabbed at the doorframe to keep himself upright. Joe grabbed at him, his eyes filling with tears.

“Quynh?” Joe croaked. Relief filled Andy, followed by a joy so sharp it brought tears to her eyes. Quynh was here. She really was here.

Quynh marched over to them. “Am I here, Yusuf? Nicolò? Hmm? Can you see me?” She jabbed a finger at them both.

Joe reached out and caught her hand and made a choking noise. Nicky stumbled forwards and then both of them were wrapping her up in a hug.

Andy wiped at her eyes and sniffed. Joe jerked away from Quynh as though he had been shot and flung his arms around Andy.

“I’m so sorry,” he wailed, “you were right! I’m so sorry, Andy!”

Nicky made a wounded noise and piled into the hug as well. “I’m sorry,” he said in a voice choked by tears. “We shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“I can’t blame you,” Andy said dryly, “I doubted myself.”

Quynh sniffed imperiously. “I can and will blame you,” she said, “and I believe I was promised pancakes?”

Nicky laughed, and moved back to hug Quynh again. “After all this time,” he said quietly. He pulled Quynh close to him and held her tightly for a long moment. Joe wrapped his arms more firmly around Andy and they stayed like that for several minutes.

Andy squeezed Quynh’s hand tightly and finally let herself believe that this was real. She dropped her forehead to Joe’s shoulder, clutched his shirt, and let herself cry. “Andy?” Joe asked. His arms automatically tightened around her. “Andy?”

Quynh squeezed her hand in return and extracted herself from Nicky’s hold. “Go help your husband in the kitchen, Yusuf,” she said, unwinding Andy from his arms and replacing them with her own. “We’re expecting pancakes and coffee.”

Andy pressed herself tightly against Quynh. “You’re here,” she said, tears dampening Quynh’s jacket. “You’re finally here.”

Quynh tucked herself against Andy just as tightly. “I’m here,” she said, her voice wavering. “I’m here.”

“What are we going to tell Nile?” Joe asked distantly in the kitchen, and Andy laughed through her tears and felt Quynh laugh with her.

“You and me,” she said, looking up at Quynh’s tear-streaked face.

“Until the end,” Quynh promised softly. “Until the end.”


	3. Nile and the day that is just, like, a lot, okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, how did Quynh find them? And where is Nile?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this update, I've added some stuff to chapter one if you want to go back and read it. It hasn't changed anything plot wise, just added some more details.

It was only a short drive into town which was lucky because Nile’s hands started shaking almost as soon as she parked. She thumped the steering wheel lightly. “Christ in Heaven,” she muttered, and pressed her hands to her face.

Andy had been so fucking _happy._ She’d been humming for God’s sake, and all but batted her eyelashes at Nicky asking him for pancakes, and even having a hangover hadn’t made her miserable, and it was all a lie. A hallucination. A dream. Nile shook her head and took a shaky breath.

And the look on Joe’s face when Andy had said, “For Quynh,” as though it was obvious, as though they all knew that was what she was doing… Nile hadn’t been able to stay. To watch as Joe and Nicky brought Andy’s happiness crashing down for what must have been the hundredth time.

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel, and deeply, deeply wished her mother was there to take her face in her hands and kiss her forehead and promise that everything was going to be alright. Nile had felt so confident and prepared as a marine; after she’d finished her training she’d felt like an adult, like someone who could be relied upon to know what to do. Even in her mad dash to rescue Joe, Nicky, Andy, and Booker, she’d had a plan, even if it had been an insane one. But this? How did you help someone who was grieving a loss you couldn’t even imagine, and that terrified you to your bones? How did you comfort someone who missed someone else so much that they hallucinated their presence on a regular basis because they couldn’t cope with their loss?

Andy so often felt alien to Nile; at times she acted like any of the marines Nile had known, laughing and joking in the face of danger, and at other times Nile could almost feel the unfathomable years rolling off of her as Andy looked at her with eyes as ancient as the concept of writing. But this morning she’d been so much lighter. So much younger. So different to the dry, sarcastic, world-weary leader Nile had become used to.

After her dreams, Nile was used to the horror of what Quynh was suffering; of the immense and terrible injustice done to her, of everything she had lost in being cast into the water. What she hadn’t thought about – what had never even occurred to her – was what had been taken from _Andy._ Everything Andy had lost, everything she had suffered; a suffering that was so overshadowed by Quynh’s that it was as though it wasn’t there.

Nile tried to imagine how she would be feeling if her brother had suffered Quynh’s fate and grimly resisted the urge to hurriedly wrench her mind away from that line of thought; let herself sit in the anger and guilt and helpless despair. Just imagining it made her shudder. And it wasn’t as though Nicky and Joe were unaffected – not only did they have to live with what had happened to Quynh, but they had to help Andy through it as well. In a sudden flash of insight, Nile thought of the way Andy would deny any pain if Joe or Nicky asked, and wondered if that was why.

Eventually, she shook herself and pulled herself out of the car. The least she could do was buy Andy some alcohol and ice-cream after the morning she’d had. Although she didn’t think she’d find baklava here.

She headed to the nearest shop, a woman on a mission. As she’d suspected, there was no baklava, but she did pick up several bottles of wine – while she couldn’t stop Andy from getting blisteringly drunk, she could at least prevent her from getting her hands on any vodka or whiskey – several tubs of ice cream, and a great deal of chocolate. The clerk at the till raised an eyebrow at her purchases, but made no comment, merely asking for some ID.

Nile reached for her wallet, and froze. She patted down her pockets in increasing desperation. _Shit._ She’d been so busy rushing out the door she hadn’t stopped to pick up her wallet. She gave the clerk an embarrassed smile. “Could you put that to the side while I run and get my wallet?” she asked.

“It’s okay,” a familiar voice said behind her. “I’ll pay for it.”

Nile turned and found Booker behind her. He looked… rough. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, with dark bags underneath them. He’d clearly not shaved in several days and his hair was a mess instead of neatly brushed. His coat looked like it had seen better days and Nile was pretty sure the stain on his shirt was blood. His hand was shaking as he extended his card to the clerk.

“Booker!” Nile said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She was very conscious of the clerk behind them.

Booker shrugged. “I was in the neighbourhood,” he said, his voice a low rasp.

Nile doubted that rather strongly, but waited until they were outside to question him. “Dude,” she said as they walked back to the car, “you look like a truck ran you over. Are you okay?”

Booker laughed sourly. “I’ll survive,” he said grimly. Nile grimaced but didn’t argue with him as they loaded her shopping into the boot of the car.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as they closed the boot.

Booker frowned. “With y’know, everything…” He gestured vaguely. “I was worried about Andy.”

Nile winced. “Yeah, she’s uh… she’s not doing so great.”

Booker winced. “I was worried about that.”

Nile shifted her stance, wondering if she should invite him back, or tell the others he was in town. Standing next to the car was going to get awkward fast. She was considering going for coffee – but then the ice cream would melt – when her phone rang.

She reached for it and saw that it was Nicky calling. Her heart sank. “Hey, Nicky,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “What’s up?”

“Are you still in town?” Nicky asked. He sounded choked up.

“Yeah, I am. You need something?”

“Can you grab some medical supplies? Andy is…” Nicky hesitated and cleared his throat. “She pulled some stitches.”

“Right. Yeah.” Nile glanced around and spotted a pharmacy. “I’ll get some stuff and head back.”

“Thanks.”

Nile glanced at Booker, who was listening in concern, and took a plunge. “Booker’s here,” she blurted.

“Is he?” Nicky didn’t sound too surprised. There was the sound of distant talking, as though he was speaking to someone and then he said, “Bring him as well,” and hung up.

Nile tucked her phone back into her jeans. “Come on,” she said to Booker, “you’ve got the money.”

\--

Booker didn’t ask her anything until they were out of the pharmacy. Nile hadn’t known what to grab so she’d gotten some of everything, and told the worried clerk that her family was planning a hike and wanted to be prepared.

“Is Andy okay?” Booker asked as they got into the car.

“She’s…” Nile paused to think as she plugged her seat belt in. “She’s not well,” she finished lamely. “Nicky said she pulled some of her stitches.”

Booker winced, and nodded. Nile turned the ignition on, put the car in gear, and pulled out onto the road. She glanced at Booker, where he was slumped in the passenger seat. “Joe said to ask you about World War Two,” she blurted suddenly.

“Ah,” Booker grimaced. “That was a shitshow. What part exactly?”

Nile frowned at the road. “About Andy…. Andy hallucinating.”

“Oh.” He sighed, and was silent for a few minutes. “You were in combat, right?” he said abruptly. Nile nodded. “You get shelled?” he asked, and Nile shook her head. “Didn’t think they used that anymore. Fucking horrific.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask, taking a sip. “Nicky got hit by one once. Took him a good ten minutes to come back. Joe was losing his shit the whole time.” He frowned out the window, and Nile tried to loosen her grip on the steering wheel.

“We were somewhere in France,” he said, “Normandy. Pretty late in the war – after D-Day. Andy and I got separated from the others – don’t remember why. Shells had been raining down for a couple of days. Pretty impossible to sleep in that, and Andy barely sleeps anyway.”

“I’d noticed,” Nile said dryly, and Booker shot her a tired grin. He took another sip from his flask.

“Yeah, I don’t think she’s slept well since she lost Quynh. Definitely hadn’t slept while we were getting shelled. I was dozing a bit, and next thing I know, Andy’s gone. Just got up and walked out the foxhole and into the woods. I was up and after her and she was…” He shook his head. “I thought she was talking to herself; I guess she was, in a way. I was freaking out, trying to get her to come back, and she wouldn’t listen. I grabbed her arm, she shouted Quynh’s name, and the next thing I know I’m flat on my back, wheezing, and Andy’s taken off into the woods.” He grimaced and rubbed at a spot on his ribs. “Damn fast when she wants to be, that woman is. _Damn_ fast.” He tossed the flask back again, and Nile bit her lip to stop herself from commenting. “I had to chase her, of course.” He shook his head. “Halfway across goddamn Normandy, trying to avoid both sides, no rations or ammo or shit. I eventually caught up to her when she died of exhaustion or exposure or something, and managed to drag her to one of our safehouses. I think we’re both still listed as deserters.”

“Jesus,” Nile muttered, changing gear with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

Booker snorted. “Yeah.” He glanced at her. “Why’d Joe say that? Has Andy been…?”

Nile nodded, and Booker muttered a curse under his breath. “She’s been doing pretty well,” he said quietly, “before all this.”

Nile winced. Yeah, Andy’s incipient mortality probably wasn’t doing much for her state of mind. “Not your fault,” she said. Booker shot her a sardonic glance and she took one hand off the wheel to gently hit him. “Not that,” she huffed. “Andy. That all happened way before you were around.”

“Yeah.” Booker twisted his flask in his hands. “But shooting her probably didn’t help.”

Nile shrugged. “Not your fault she’s mortal either.” She steered the car around a curve and pulled up outside their current safehouse. She met Booker’s eyes. “You good to go in or do you need a minute?”

He huffed, and tucked his flask away. “I’ll cope,” he said dryly, “although if I were you I wouldn’t stand in front of me. You don’t want to get caught in the cross-fire.”

“Use you as a human shield,” Nile said dryly as they got out the car. “Got it.” Booker laughed and they both grabbed shopping bags and headed for the house.

Two weeks ago, Nile had had a very odd dream where she was trapped in a car with Booker. In the way of dreams, it had all seemed completely alien to her. She’d been panicking for some reason – the car felt like it was closing in around her, like she couldn’t breathe – and she hadn’t been able to figure out how to unplug her seat belt so she could get out. Part of her had been almost awake, and had known what she needed to do, but her dream-self had been utterly confused and panicking. Eventually she’d worked it out and tried to leave the car only to then find she couldn’t open the door. The whole time Booker had been talking to her in French – trying to calm her down, presumably, but she didn’t speak French, so it had been more irritating than helpful. She’d eventually managed to open the door, and had thrown herself out of what she suddenly realised was a moving car. She’d woken up after hitting the ground, deeply unsettled, but honestly she had been having weird dreams – stressful situations always caused them – and the most she’d thought of it was that she might be developing claustrophobia, or that maybe it had something to do with Booker’s betrayal.

When she stepped through the door into the living room of the safe house, she realised this wasn’t the case.

Everything after that happened very fast. Nile had walked into the room and seen Andy and another woman on the sofa. Andy had had her shirt lifted up, showing her wound – she was bleeding through the bandages. The other woman had been sitting next to her and holding her hand. They both looked up as Nile and Booker came in. Nile had a few seconds to look at the woman’s face and realise it was Quynh. Her thoughts seemed to be moving incredibly quickly as she linked Quynh’s appearance with her odd dream about the car, and Booker being in town, and Andy’s “hallucination” that morning.

Then Quynh spotted Booker and her face twisted in fury. Nile heard Booker swear next to her, and realised he must not have told her that he’d shot Andy. Quynh lunged to her feet, knife appearing in her hand from somewhere in her coat, and Nile did exactly what Booker had told her not to do and stepped in front of him, her arms spread wide.

Quynh skidded to a halt in front of her. Her eyes flickered from Nile to Booker, and then back to Nile.

“Hey,” Nile said, in as friendly a tone as she could manage, drawing on all the de-escalation training she’d ever received. “You must be Quynh. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Nile.”

Andy shifted on the sofa and said something in a different language. Quynh replied to her without taking her eyes off of Booker, and Nile abruptly realised that, of course, she wouldn’t speak modern English.

“She says she knows and you should get out of her way,” Andy said.

“I just think stabbing him is a bit extreme,” Nile said, not moving. “Have you considered punching him instead?”

Andy snorted and translated her words. “Whose side are you on?” Booker asked from behind her.

“Do you want to be stabbed?” Nile hissed back. “He’s already exiled,” she added, when Quynh showed no signs of putting her knife away, “and I think that’s a worse punishment for him. He’d probably prefer being stabbed.”

Quynh’s eyes narrowed as Andy translated, but then she pursed her lips thoughtfully, nodded, and finally put the knife away. Nile sighed in relief and stepped away from Booker, going to pick up the medical supplies she’d dropped. Quynh moved like lightning and Booker reeled backwards, hands rising to his face. Quynh spat a string of hissed words at him, and then turned back to Andy.

“Please don’t translate that,” Booker said, hands muffling his voice. “I’d like to sleep tonight.” Nicky, who’d been sitting in an armchair with Joe, retorted in Italian.

Nile decided not to get involved and methodically unpacked the medical supplies she’d bought. As the only one with modern first-aid training, she’d taken over tending to Andy’s wounds. It wasn’t as though Joe and Nicky weren’t good at first-aid because they were – probably better than her, in fact. Nicky had told her than one of them made sure to get EMT training every decade or so and then pass it on to the other three because of how quickly medical knowledge changed, but that was the problem; they were good at _first-aid_. Not at the longer term maintenance of an injury. Nile had had to teach them all about how to prevent infections and when to remove sutures, and frankly she had to look some of it up, but at least she had recent personal experience on her side.

Quynh had sat back down, taken Andy’s hand, and was now staring unblinkingly at her. It was a little unnerving. She reached for Andy’s bandages and Quynh snapped something in what Nile assumed was ancient Vietnamese. Languages weren’t Nile’s forte, but the tone was dark, so she froze, and looked at Andy. “She wants to know what you’re doing,” Andy explained.

“I’ve got to take the bandage off to examine the damage,” Nile said, relaxing slightly. She began peeling the bandages away as Andy translated. “When did you pull your stitches?” she asked, frowning. She’d assumed it had been while she was out, but this blood looked old.

Andy winced. “Last night,” she admitted.

“Andy!” Nile frowned at her. “I told you to change them if you started bleeding again! And to tell me! Are you telling me you’ve been walking around like this all morning?” She dumped the bloody bandages in the empty shopping bag and reached for the packet of wipes she’d had the fore-thought to buy. Before Quynh could snap at her again, she explained, “I’ve got to get rid of the blood so I can see what the hell she’s done to herself,” directing the last at Andy.

Andy had managed to pull a few stitches and re-open the wound. Nile cleaned it, replaced the stitches, arguing with Andy yet again about anaesthesia and still not winning, and then put some new bandages on top, narrating what she was doing the entire time. “Okay.” She stood, and looked at Quynh. “Andy can you tell her what I’m saying? I’m telling you this because Andy’s done this twice already and won’t listen to me. If she’s bleeding, she needs to replace the bandages regularly. It’s okay to get the bandages wet, like in the shower, but she needs to change them again afterwards. If she pulls some stitches, _again_ , then she needs to _do something about it, immediately._ And she should also probably be taking painkillers, and maybe go to a goddamn _hospital,_ but I’ve given up on that fight.”

Quynh listened intently, nodding, and gave Andy an intense, inscrutable look. “Forgive me for having had my fill of hospitals right now, I’m sure,” Andy said dryly to Nile, sitting up.

Nile caught sight of Booker wincing out of the corner of her eye and decided she needed to go and put away the things she’d bought.

It wasn’t that she _disagreed_ with Booker’s exile, not when you really got down to it. It wouldn’t be good for him, of course – she could see that already. But she’d also been woken up by Nicky screaming, and she’d seen how tense Joe got when Nicky was out of his sight, and Andy’s bullet wound was only the least of the injuries that needed to heal. Point of fact, it might even be worse for Booker to be around them and deal with all the tension and nightmares and anger that needed to be dealt with than to be in exile, but that didn’t mean that Nile was comfortable with completely cutting him off from his support system.

She sighed, and closed the freezer. She’d had to deal with a friend spiralling into depression, and she knew how hard it could be to see that happen to someone you loved, and how difficult it could be to help them if they didn’t want to be helped, so she couldn’t blame Andy, Nicky, and Joe for putting themselves and their healing first – and at the end of the day, Booker had hurt them. But Booker did, actually, genuinely, look like shit, and she was very worried about him.

As she was finishing up, she heard raised voices and quickly headed back into the sitting room. Joe and Booker were shouting at each other in, presumably, Italian, and Nicky was standing at the window, his shoulders tensed. Andy had her head on Quynh’s shoulder, and Nile presumed the only reason that Quynh hadn’t gotten up to stab Booker was that Andy was holding onto her hands tightly.

Nile hesitated by the doorway – she had only known these people for a few months; did she really want to get into the middle of a bad argument? Before she could decide, Andy sighed, and lifted her head. “That’s enough,” she said tiredly.

Joe cut himself off, and made a furious, aborted gesture towards Booker, as though to say, _can you believe this shit,_ and went to stand next to Nicky. Booker slumped down, his shoulders curving in on himself.

Andy got up, still holding onto Quynh with one hand, and went over to him, putting one hand on his shoulder. “Book,” she said gently, “I’m sorry, but you need to go.”

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I know,” and wiped a hand across his face.

The juxtaposition of Andy’s sympathetic expression and Quynh’s murderous glare made hysterical laughter bubble up in Nile’s throat. She choked it down and reached for her phone. “Hey man,” she said, “what’s your number?”

Booker and Andy turned to her with quizzical expressions. “His number?” Andy said. For a moment Nile thought she was going to say they couldn’t stay in touch, but then she said, “Two hundred years?” and Nile laughed.

“No,” she said, “his phone number.”

“It’s two hundred and _fifty_ years,” Booker corrected, digging in his jacket.

Andy snorted. “Because the fifty really makes a difference.”

Booker pulled his phone out. “We couldn’t all fight at the battle of Troy,” he said to Andy, grinning, and then read out his number for Nile.

She quickly sent him a text. “That’s me,” she said. “Don’t be a stranger, hey?”

Booker smiled at her. “Don’t let the old people get you down,” he retorted.

Quynh said something to Andy, and Andy frowned at her, and then at Nile. “How do phones work?” she asked them.

Nile contemplated trying to explain the computer revolution to someone who’d been trapped underwater for the last five hundred years – god, Quynh didn’t even know about _telegrams_ , did she? – and pointed at Booker. “He’s the technology guy,” she said hurriedly. “Don’t ask me.”

\--

After Booker left, Andy and Quynh disappeared upstairs and Nicky and Joe were talking quietly over by the window in a language that Nile couldn’t understand but in tones that seemed very emotional, so she retreated back into the kitchen to give them some space.

She made herself a cup of tea, and then decided that, fuck it, it’d been a long day, and got out some of the ice cream she’d bought earlier.

She sat down at the table, and caught sight of the clock. It was only three in the afternoon. “Jesus,” she muttered, “this day has been three days already.” She put her face in her hands. She was still trying to come to terms with the fact that Andy had fucking _hallucinated_ Quynh on and off for _five hundred years_ , never mind the fact that Quynh was now actually _back_ , clearly angry, with no _idea_ what had been happening in the world.

And speaking of Andy hallucinating – her “hallucination” that morning had clearly been nothing of the sort. How long had Nicky and Joe spent convincing her she’d been hallucinating only to find out it wasn’t a hallucination? Nile looked down at her bowl of ice cream and went back to the freezer for the rest of the pint.

“It’s just been one of those days,” she said to herself. Although – she remembered how happy Andy had been that morning. If every morning now was going to start with Andy happily humming while she made coffee as opposed to grimly trying to drown herself in it, she’d take Quynh’s tendency for stabbing any day.

And – Nile paused. No more dreams. She wouldn’t dream of Quynh drowning anymore. Quynh wouldn’t _be_ drowning anymore. Yeah, she’d take some stabbing any day.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [say you love me every waking moment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27449419) by [illyas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyas/pseuds/illyas)




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